


Freedom Land

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: Life is slow in Boone County; not much exciting ever happens here, but that’s how Clyde’s come to like it. It’s slow, but comfortable, an easy way of life that doesn’t come with any of the hassle that big cities provide. But all that changes the moment you waltz in with your lackadaisical attitude and your desire for exploration. Suddenly, Clyde reckons that leaving Boone County ain’t such a bad idea after all.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 78





	1. Danville

Summertime in Boone County brings with it sweltering temperatures well into the nineties. Not even the nights are safe in the sleepy rural town of Danville, where the humidity clings and sticks to you, weighing you down with the wet, heavy heat of it. The air conditioning unit that sits on the side of the Duck Tape whirs to life, pumping cold relief into the bar where the usual locals gather for a drink after they’ve put in a hard day’s work. Overhead, one of the televisions plays an old Nascar race, the cars going ‘round and ‘round the track whilst the commentators give their opinions on who they think may win the race. Everyone in the bar already knows, of course. Off in the near distance, a cue ball cracks into the other billiard balls that have been set up in a perfect pyramid, scattering them across the felted table top as a few of the patrons play another round.

Jimmy steps away from one of the tables, taking his sweet old time to limp over to the bar for another beer, the current bottle in his hand now empty. The glass bottle thunks heavily down onto the counter top just prior to him lifting himself up onto one of the vacant stools, his gaze finding Clyde to give him an expectant look. There’s a sigh that emanates from Clyde, and the sound causes Jimmy to chuckle. “Y’ever gonna pay your tab?”

Clyde poses the question while he pops off the top of a brand new beer, sliding it over to his elder brother. Jimmy snorts at that, exchanging his empty for the full one, lifting the new bottle to his mouth and pausing just before it touches his lips. “Now, c’mon, don’t be like that. We’re family, ‘n’ family don’t pay.”

He knows it isn’t the truth, knows he’ll pay up before he leaves for the night, but he just can’t help but get his little brother all riled up. It  _ is _ his favorite pastime, after all. The muscles of Clyde’s jaw tick visibly with unspoken agitation, and the sight of it alone has Jimmy smirking into the mouth of the bottle when he finally takes a sip. Clyde’s taken to shining a glass, huffing out a breath of exasperation before he speaks up. “Just ‘cause we’re family don’t mean y’can drink me outta house ‘n’ home.”

The comment nearly causes Jimmy to spit his mouthful of beer out. Managing to recover, he swallows the liquid before expelling hearty laughter out into the space, the sound pulling only the slightest of smiles from Clyde.

The hinges of the bar’s door creak and groan as the wooden door swings open, and Clyde’s head turns to get a look at just who’s entering the bar now. He’d have reckoned another one of the locals on account of not all of the usuals bein’ here just yet, but the hand that works the cloth over the glass he’s spent the better portion of the last few minutes cleaning halts almost immediately at the sight of you. He swears it’s like something out of a movie watchin’ you as you stride into the bar, the flowy material of your dress swirling and swaying around your legs while you walk. There are thin strips of feathers braided into your hair, and an even thinner gold chain headpiece that wraps around the top of your head.

You’re like something straight out of one of Clyde’s dreams, boho look ‘n’ all.

He swears that it’s as if time itself has slowed, the background noise fading into nothing and everyone else in the bar disappearing until all that’s left is you as you make your way towards the bar. Jimmy’s eyes narrow slightly while he watches Clyde all but space out, his head turning to look at just what his younger brother’s taken a sudden fancy to. There’s a hum that emanates from Jimmy, the sound pulling Clyde back to the here and now, his gaze sliding over to where the older Logan sits.

“You leave that one alone,” Clyde mutters to Jimmy, a strange and sudden flare of jealousy flaring up within him. It’s only quelled when Jimmy holds his hands up, palms facing Clyde in a defensive display as if to say ‘she’s all yours’. Clyde’s shoulders relax, losing just a bit of that tension when Jimmy concedes, setting the glass and cloth aside in favor of stepping over to where you sit in order to take your order.

“What can I get ya?” Clyde’s steps halt once he’s standing fully in front of you, taking you in as you peer up at him with a kind smile.

“That depends,” you counter playfully, and Clyde swears he can feel his heart skip a beat at the breathy sound of you. “What’s your specialty?”

“Well,” he starts, inhaling a breath in preparation to give you the rundown of everything on tap just as he lays his forearms atop the counter. “We got Heineken, Sam Adams, Bud Weiser — ”

His words are cut off when he sees you reaching forward, your hand resting lightly atop the metal prosthetic forearm that makes up a portion of his left arm. “No, no.” There’s a hint of laughter that follows the words before you speak again. “What’s  _ your  _ specialty? Something that’s not on the menu. Let’s say something you’d make for a weary traveler who doesn’t know what she wants.”

“That what y’are,” he asks, leaving his arm where it is even after your fingers slide off of him when your hand returns to the edge of the bar’s counter top.

“A weary traveler?” You smile up at him and shrug a shoulder. “A traveler, yes. Weary, no.”

That makes Clyde crack a smile just before he turns to grab a couple of glasses, strainer and various bottles along with a container of salt. “If y’don’t mind my askin’, are y’travelin’ anywhere specific?”

“I’m headed to Maine,” you reply, watching with interest as Clyde works quickly, rimming one glass with the juice of a lime before dipping it into the salt. “I started all the way out in California.”

In the second glass, he pours in ice along with grapefruit juice, lime juice, and sugar, stirring quickly to dissolve the sugar before adding in tequila. He pours the mixture into the first glass, topping it off with club soda and sliding it over towards you, both brows raising up at this new bit of information that you’ve bestowed upon him.

“Aren’t y’a bit off course? Figured you’d need t’be further north for that route.”

You lift the glass up to your mouth, giving it a tentative sip to taste. A hum sounds when you decide that it’s delicious, not to mention refreshing; it’s the perfect drink to chase away the summer heat, you conclude. “I’ve been hitchhiking my way. Just thought I’d go wherever people take me, see as much of the country as I can regardless of what parts of it I see. I’ll get there eventually, I’m in no rush.” You take another sip and hum again, this time when you lower the glass back down to the wooden counter top. “This is really good, what is it?”

He envies that, getting to travel all over, seeing whatever you like when you like. Though he’s never had a desire to move out of Boone County where all his family are, he’d still like to see more of the country, he reckons. “‘S’a Paloma,” he replies.

“Perfect for the summer,” the words are spoken by both of you at the same time, and you can’t help but laugh just as Clyde breaks out into a pleased grin.

Off to the right, Jimmy continues to watch this entire exchange go down with great interest. This is the first time his baby brother’s taken interest in anyone since he’s been back from the Middle East, and it’s equal parts nice as it is interesting. He only wishes Mellie were here to witness it too, but seeing as she’s not, Jimmy catalogs all of this to memory so he can tell her all about it next time he sees her.

“So y’said you’d been hitchhikin’ this whole time?” The question is posed while Clyde busies himself with putting away the bottles back in their appropriate spaces, turning for only a moment to wash out the glass he’d used to stir together everything.

You’re still sipping on the Paloma while you nod in response, taking a moment to swallow before you respond. “Sure am.”

His brows crease, and the expression that forms is one of concern. Even you can tell. It makes you smile, and the urge to smooth wrinkled space between his brows with your thumb is overwhelming. “I don’t reckon that’s very safe.”

Your shoulders roll into a nonchalant shrug, and again you take another sip, nearly emptying the remainder of your glass when you do so. “Suppose it can be. But I’ve been lucky so far. I’ve met only the best kind of people. Real friendly, all of ‘em. Met some families who took me long ways, others shorter distances, all of which happy to help me on my journey.”

Clyde hums in response, his head nodding slowly as he listens, though he can’t shake the uneasy feeling about the whole situation. Again, you reach for him when his hands settle atop the bar’s counter, though this time you reach for his right hand, placing yours over top of it to give it a gentle pat. “I see that look in your eye. It’s kind of you to worry, but I’ll be alright.”

He makes no moves to move his hand, but Clyde falls silent, his gaze lowering to where your hands join against the wood. You allow the silence to fill the space between you, your fingers gently grazing the skin of his while you let his mind whir with whatever’s rattling around in that brain of his.

Clyde’s lips push out to form a pout, the expression the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen, you think to yourself. “Y’ever think about where you’ll go after?” He swallows, bringing his attention back to you, eyes looking to your own. “Will y’head back to California? Or will y’go somewhere else?”

Your hand pulls away from his so that you can grasp your glass again, finishing off its contents before you respond. “I haven’t put much thought to it, if I’m honest.” You set the glass down and Clyde is quick to remove it from the counter top just so he has something to keep himself busy with whilst you speak. “But of all the places I’ve been to so far, this here’s my favorite.”

There’s a slight uptick to his mouth, softening his generally stoic features just so.

“Say…” You lean in, forearms resting atop the bar’s counter, head tilted just enough to look up at him as he leans in to hear you better. “You ever been to Maine?”

Clyde shakes his head slowly, watching as your smile only grows, something akin to mischief flashing across your eyes at his silent admission.

“You want to go?”

There’s a soft huff of disbelief that rushes out of his nose. He’d seen and heard some crazy things in his time running the bar, but never had he been asked to just drop everything and go on a road trip, let alone by a complete stranger. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were askin’ me for a free ride.”

His tone is nothing short of playful, and you can’t help but laugh while you shake your head in return. “Not even close. Just a companion is all. Wouldn’t take us long, maybe a few days if we’re quick.”

Clyde turns his head, catching Jimmy’s eye when he does so. His older brother just shrugs, having heard the whole conversation from start to finish. He certainly isn’t going to tell Clyde what to do, not that he could anyway, but he’s hoping like hell that he takes the bait, if nothing else, so that he has some grand story to tell Mellie.

Huffing out a breath, Clyde lifts his right hand and runs it through his hair, pushing the strands back while he takes some time to debate with himself.

“When’s the last time you took a trip,” you ask, genuinely curious to know.

Another look is exchanged between Clyde and Jimmy, but you don’t dare ask. “Last year. Family ‘n’ I went t’North Carolina.”

“You take those trips often?”

Clyde shakes his head, and again, you smile. “Surely you don’t want to be stuck in this bar all your life. Live a little! It’ll take us less than a week, and if you hate it, you can always just drop me off and turn around and come back home.”

Now  _ that _ , that’s a thought that Clyde doesn’t like. It wouldn’t be like him to just drop you off and run.

Another long moment stretches on before Clyde gives his answer, a slight nod accompanying it. “Alright then. Let me just get some things in order ‘n’ we can get goin’ come first light.”


	2. New York

Clyde hadn’t been kiddin’ when he’d said first light. The sun is barely peekin’ up over the rolling West Virginia hills before the car’s packed ‘n’ ready to go. He’d been kind enough to allow you to stay over at his trailer. It only made sense, of course, what with the two’a you hittin’ the road first thing in the morning. He’d have been a fool to drop you off miles down the road only to pick you up the next day.

You drop down unceremoniously onto the passenger seat, shoes already off and feet propped up onto the dashboard whilst you wait for Clyde to ensure that the trailer’s all locked up ‘n’ secure before he’s slidin’ behind the wheel of the car to join you on your adventure. “Got everythin’,” he asks, mostly out of habit, but also because he isn’t sure if he’ll be comin’ back here with you in tow.

The leather of the seat’s headrest is cool against the back of your head when you turn to look over at him, givin’ him a soft hum and a nod, the beginnings of a smile making an appearance. “Do  _ you _ ?”

It’s Clyde’s turn to nod now when he looks over at you just as his wrist gives a slight turn to kickstart the engine, feeling the car lumberin’ to life. “All’s I need is in the trunk, same as yours. I reckon I’ve got enough t’ see us t’ Maine ‘n’ back.”

He notices then, with a hopeful leap of his heart, that you don’t dare correct him when he insinuates, without intendin’ to, that both of you will be returning to Boone County followin’ your trip up north. The two of you smile at one another, a comfortable silence lingerin’ between you before you break it with some words of your own. “Well then,” you say with a hefty, overly-dramatic sigh, “I guess we better get goin’ then. The days are only slippin’ by.”

Clyde huffs a laugh at that, but backs up out of the driveway nonetheless, pullin’ out onto the road to begin the long drive that lies ahead. The plan is to hit New York City, a drive that should only take roughly nine hours, before the two of you stop to explore ‘n’ find a place to hunker down for the night.

\----------------------

Times Square is an overload of sensations, the multitude of digital billboards at the intersection of 7th Avenue and W 45th light up the night sky unlike anythin’ that Clyde’s ever seen, advertising everythin’ from up and coming television programs to the current production takin’ place on Broadway. You can’t help the way that your mouth curls into a smile at the way that Clyde’s takin’ it all in with a look of wonder etched onto his features.

“You got anywhere you want to be?” Your question pulls him from his thoughts, and when he turns his head to look over at you, he shakes his head wordlessly. The smile that’d formed only moments prior remain in place when you speak again. “You afraid of heights?”

Clyde’s brows furrow, but again, he shakes his head. “No. No I reckon me ‘n’ heights get along just fine.”

“Good, c’mon.” His gaze immediately dips down when you reach for him, your hand slippin’ into his own, fingers lacing so that the two of you won’t get separated when you begin to lead him towards the nearest subway station.

In no time at all, you reach your destination: the Empire State Building.

The moment that you emerge from the subway station, you’re once again takin’ Clyde’s hand to ensure that the two of you don’t lose track of one another. He follows your lead dutifully, questionin’ absolutely nothing while the two of you weave your way through the throngs of people still on the sidewalk. To your relief, the typical long line of visitors is no longer there given the time of night. Swingin’ open the door, you pull Clyde in with you, releasing his hand once you’re both inside the lobby.

“Thought there’d be more people,” Clyde muses aloud.

You hum in acknowledgement of his statement, a single shoulder rising and falling in response. “Must be something more interesting happening elsewhere,” you counter, though truthfully you haven’t the faintest idea. Regardless, you’re thankful for the lack of visitors, leaving you and Clyde alone on the elevator ride up to the observation deck. 

It’s shameful, he thinks, the way his fingers twitch, eager to be held by yours even though you make no move to do so. His gaze flits over to you on occasion, doing so in a way that he hopes will be sly. But you notice; notice the way that his muscles tense any time your shoulder grazes his arm, notice the way his head turns only slightly when he attempts to get a good look at you beside him. How could you not notice the flex of his fingers?

Soon enough, the elevator doors part, allowing the two of you to step out onto the observation deck where you’re both greeted by the sight of the city lit up in stark contrast to the inky night sky. New York is a sea of illumination that stretches as far as the horizon, never relentin’ even not to the cover of the night. It’s unlike anythin’ either your or Clyde have ever seen, and for a moment, it steals the breath right out from the depths of your lungs.

Up here, the wind whips and howls over top of the glass partitions that prevent any visitors from leanin’ over the edge of the observation deck. There’s the slightest pull on Clyde’s left arm at the space where the prosthetic meets his skin, and when he looks down, he finds that your hand’s taken the metal of his in its grasp. The view of the city may be powerful enough to render him speechless, but it’s the fact that you’ve taken to him with such ease, not givin’ one care in the world about his arm that’s got him truly dumbfounded.

Metal whirls ‘n’ clicks, the fingers of his prosthetic openin’ slowly to allow you to get a better grip on his hand. Your head turns to look downward, your own fingers giving him just enough room to move until the sounds cease and his fingers are outstretched. Allowin’ your palm to slip against his, you wrap your fingers around his hand, a smile gracing your fingers when he grips your hand in his gently. Your gaze lifts to find his still peerin’ down at your joined hands, and for a moment, neither of you say a word.

It’s obvious to you with the way that he’s lookin’ down that this contact means a great deal to him. The realization squeezes at your heart, a heaviness settling onto your chest. “You don’t do this often, do you?” Your voice is soft, gently probing to not only satisfy your curiosity, but to better get to know the man who’s hand you currently hold.

Clyde’s head shakes, his bottom lip juttin’ out just a bit in a natural pout, one that he seems to wear often to show his discomfort. “No. Not since,” he trails off, motionin’ with a wave of his right hand towards his prosthetic.

Your hand gives his a gentle squeeze even though you know he can’t feel the reassurin’ gesture, but he can see it, the way the tendons in your hand flex with the effort. It’s then that the pout disappears, replaced by a warm smile of appreciation.

“Thank you,” he manages to say, the smile still in place.

“For what, stealin’ you away from your place of business,” you tease.

He snorts at that, another shake of his head precedin’ his reply. “For gettin’ me outta Boone County. Don’t think I ever would’a left again had y’not come ‘round.”

You smile up at him, watchin’ the way the lights of the city highlight the angular structure of his face. “You say that like you weren’t convinced to leave the second I made the offer.”

There’s another snort that follows, and his gaze flickers outward toward the city before he looks back to you. “S’pose I’m a sucker for a pair’a pretty eyes.”

\----------------------

The door to the hotel room you two have booked flings open only to slam shut with the kick of Clyde’s boot, the automatic lock securin’ it the moment that it’s closed. He holds you against him, your legs wrapped around his waist, lips attached to his as the two of you breathe the other in. It’s only once he reaches one of the double beds that Clyde sets you down on your feet, your lips separatin’ from his, your chests heaving as you take each other in wordlessly. You’re the first to reach out, hands grasping the hem of his shirt to pull it up and over his head, discardin’ it down onto the floor just before your right hand begins to trail along the length of Clyde’s left arm. Your eyes never leave his, not even once fingertips touch the space where his skin meets metal.

Clyde’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, muscles tensin’ in nervous anticipation of your next move. Delicately, your fingers dance along the edge of the metal. “Do you want to keep this on?”

His head shakes in automatic response to your question. With careful consideration, you remove the prosthetic from his arm, turnin’ away from him only briefly to set the metal onto the nearby night stand. There’s a sudden wave of unease that settles over him when you turn back to him, your eyes landing on the arm that’s now devoid of his prosthetic. No one he’s ever remotely been interested in’s seen him like this, exposed and vulnerable in such a way. But here he is, and here you are, your hands reachin’ out to gently cradle the blunt end of his forearm. Your eyes meet his again when you lift it up, lips meeting skin as you press soft, tender kisses to the scarred area.

It’s audible, the way his breath hitches in his throat, and you can’t help but smile against his arm just before you lower it, your hands falling away from him. He’s on you in a flash, clothes flyin’ this way and that until the two of you are devoid of any fabric and he’s pinned you down atop the bed beneath him. Fingers card through his hair, grasping to tendrils as you peer up into dark eyes. Clyde takes a moment to soak in the sight of you beneath him.

“You sure this is what y’want, darlin’?” He can feel it, somewhere deep down in the depths of him that you’ll tell him yes; hell, he can see it in the way you’ve been treatin’ him, but he’s got to know, just got to be sure this once before he carries forward with his plans for you.

Your head nods in affirmation, and it’s then that his mouth lowers to slant over your own. Clyde’s hips rock over yours, the length of his cock draggin’ along your clit to pull a whine from you. A groan escapes him when you nip at his bottom lip, teeth tuggin’ on it before you release your hold. “I didn’t say you could tease,” you chide playfully, no heat to your words.

A rumble of laughter sounds, the sound emanatin’ from deep within his chest just as he shifts his body so that he’s resting on his left forearm, his right hand dropping down between your bodies to take hold of his cock. Guiding the head of him to your slick heat, he pushes into you slowly, his hand now reachin’ for your hip to hold you still. He’s barely made it a third of the way in before you’re whining and writhing beneath him.

His hand slips between the two of you again, thumb now circlin’ around your clit to get you to relax and open up further for him. “Good girl,” he murmurs when he feels you relax beneath him, the words spoken in that deep baritone of his. “You gon’ be able to take all’a me?”

He’s unable to stop the groan that gurgles at the back of his throat when your cunt flutters around him at his question, your head nodding emphatically. “I can,” you moan. “ _ IcanIcanIcan. I will _ .”

Clyde surges forward, the two of you moanin' in unison when he bottoms out, your back lifting up from the mattress just as his head dips down to bury his face in the crook of your neck. His hand slips around to splay across your lower back, holdin' you up off of the mattress as he begins to thrust in earnest, his lips suckin' the skin that sits just above your pulse point. One hand keeps its hold in his hair whilst the other moves to press your fingertips into the soft flesh of his back, feelin' the ripple of muscle as he moves above you, your legs both lifting to wrap around his waist to keep yourself anchored to him.

Your collective moans 'n' groans fill the small room, the thin walls undoubtedly unable to contain the sounds that the two of you release into the space. The  _ slap, slap, slap _ of skin on skin only helps to spur Clyde on, his thrusts growin' more and more erratic as he nears his release.

“Clyde,” you cry out just as the hand in his hair slips free to press your fingers to your clit, workin' quickly to bring yourself to the precipice. “Oh,  _ fuck _ ,  _ Clyde _ !”

A shaky groan sounds in response to your cries for him, and he feels it, the way you tighten around him, grippin' his cock firmly. The movement of his hips falters and stutters, and he lifts his head up and away from your neck, the skin already purpling from his mouth. “ _ Fffuck _ ! I’m gonna, I’m — ”

He draws his hips back, effectively pullin' his cock free from your cunt’s hold just in time to paint your stomach and chest in hot, thick ropes of his cum, your name fallin' from his lips all the while.

Clyde’s breath is hot and heavy against your lips when he lowers his head to kiss you softly. If the moment he’d shared with you on the observation deck of the Empire State Building hadn’t solidified it for him, this moment certainly has: he’s in deep with you and in such a short amount of time. He’s never, ever felt this way about anyone else. It’s concerning, wonderful, life-affirmin'.

He wants nothin' more than for you to come back to Boone County with him once this is all over.


	3. Salem

The light of a new day paints the room in shades of gold, glinting off the metal frame of the nearby mirror to reflect over onto Clyde’s face. Inhaling a deep breath through his nose, his eyelids twitch and close tighter in a vain attempt to ward off the start of a new day, wanting nothing more than to chase the sleep that now seems to be evading him. He groans, eyes cracking open when he feels a warmth shifting in his arms. Clyde blinks once, twice, three times before opening his eyes fully to look down at your still sleeping form. You snuggle closer into him, your face burrowing against his chest, breathing him in as the dreams that swirl in your mind ebb and flow as they so often do.

It takes a moment for reality to come crashing back to him, to realize that he’s miles from Boone County, that this isn’t his bed, and he isn’t at home. Relaxing back into the mattress, he continues to hold you close while he peeks over your head to glance to the digital display of the clock on the nightstand. 10:00 AM it reads in block red digits and letters.

Clyde’s head falls back against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed while the soft sound of your breathing fills the room.

When he opens his eyes again the warmth of your body has vanished and the space beside him is cold and empty. There’s a fleeting second where panic fills his veins like ice, chilling him to the bone; the feeling’s sated within a matter of seconds, however, when you step out from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your naked form.

“‘Bout time you woke up,” you tease with a smile, bare feet padding across the worn carpet of the hotel room as you cross the space to approach the bed.

Clyde huffs out a breath, his right hand lifting to scrub his calloused palm against his face in hopes of wiping away the last of the sleep that still clings to him almost desperately. “Time is it?” The words are muffled by his palm when it makes one last pass against his face, fingers raking through the hairs that cover his chin, giving it a quick scratch.

“Nearly eleven thirty now. I haven’t been up long myself.”

“Long enough for the bed to get cold,” Clyde fires back, the words leaving him faster than his brain can register. But you don’t take offense to it like most others would; no, when he shifts his gaze to look up at you when you stand near the edge of the bed, he finds that you’re smiling down at him.

“Long enough to get a shower, something you might want to consider given last night’s activities.” You quirk a knowing brow, a smirk curling your mouth upward in amusement.

This time when Clyde huffs with some amusement of his own, the corners of his mouth lifting to mirror your expression. He concedes, pushing himself up and out of bed with a groan, joints popping in the process. Clyde’s feet shuffle against the carpet, and when he rounds the bed, he takes a moment to stop and wrap an arm around you to pull you close, his lips hovering against your own briefly before you close the gap to kiss him.

“Go shower,” you mumble against his lips, both of you now smiling and yet making no moves to separate yourselves from one another. “I mean it. Before we don’t make it out of this room again.” Finally, you pry yourself away, but not before Clyde drags you back for one more kiss before releasing you for good. “We’ve got one more stop before our destination, you know, and I’d like to actually make it.”

Your teasing tone makes Clyde smile, and as you dig through your suitcase for a fresh change of clothes, he pokes his head out of the bathroom once the water’s on and heating up. “Where to next?”

“It’s a surprise,” you call out to him, lifting your head to smile at him from across the room.

He takes a beat to silently assess you. “I’m drivin’ y’know. Should probably know where we’re headed, ‘less you want me to drive straight t’ Maine.”

You drop the towel unabashedly to the floor, now focusing on getting changed. “I’ll tell you when we get in the car. Deal?”

Clyde nods, satisfied. “Deal,” he says, disappearing into the bathroom to get himself cleaned up for the day ahead.

\---------------------

The steady rumble of the Grand Prix combined with the warm summer air that whips through the car’s open windows lulls you into yet another sleep. Clyde’s gaze sweeps across to where you sit, curled in on yourself now in the seat beside him, your head tipped back and eyes moving rapidly beneath closed eyelids. He can’t help but wonder what you’re dreamin’ about. He hopes it’s somethin’ good.

According to the phone that’s currently propped up in the cup holder, occasionally barking out directions, the drive from the hotel in Times Square to your next destination—a lovely little bed and breakfast near Salem, Massachusetts—should only take a little over four hours, less if Clyde’s so inclined to step on the gas.

There’s a slight bump, accompanied by warmth at his side, the sensation pulling him from his thoughts. Clyde’s gaze slides over to find you resting against him, your body leaning across the small console to rest your head against his shoulder. The mechanical fingers of his prosthetic take over, gripping the steering wheel as his right hand moves to slide along your own, lacing your fingers with his and turning his head to press a tender kiss to your forehead. Neither move wakes you, and Clyde merely smiles to himself, eyes returning to the road while you use him like your own personal pillow.

Sleep eventually gives way to the harsh light of the afternoon, and an hour later, you’re groaning in protest when your eyes crack to get a handle on your surroundings.

“How long was I out,” you ask groggily, pushing yourself up and away from him to settle back into your seat.

The warmth that’d covered most of Clyde’s side dissipates in an instant, leaving him cold and missing the feeling of you pressed against him. His shoulders roll, eyes remaining focused on the road. “An hour, give or take a few minutes. Still got a ways t’go.”

You reach for the phone, pulling it from the cupholder to check the ETA before exhaling a ‘hmph’ and placing the phone back in its designated spot. Clyde’s eyes flit over to where you sit when you slip off your sandals and lift your feet to rest them against the dash. Had it been anyone else in his car, he would’ve told them almost instantly to remove their feet from his perfectly pristine dash, but for you, he says nothing.

“Tell me something, Clyde,” you say, looking over to him with a smile. “Tell me something not many people know about you.”

Clyde’s gaze holds yours for only a fleeting moment before it returns to the road. His lips purse in thought while he racks his brain for something remotely interesting to tell you. When he does land on a subject, he finds that he’s struggling how to even tell you. His own family don’t believe him, why would you?

“Well,” he starts, pausing briefly to exhale a small huff, “I reckon my family’s got a curse hangin’ over ‘em.”

“A curse?” Resting your head back against the seat, you keep your curious gaze trained on Clyde while he drives, taking in his profile and watching the way his eyes squint and jaw ticks with the admission. “What kind of curse? What happened?”

Clyde huffs, simultaneously nodding his head when he does so. “Well,” he says, a heavy exhale following the word, “y’got me ‘n’ m’arm. Got part of it blown off ‘n’case y’hadn’t noticed.” There’s a joke there, but neither of you laugh, and the only hint of amusement that’s given is the way the corners of his mouth tick upward just so.

“How’d you manage to do that?”

“Last day’a my duty in Iraq. Was on my way to the airport, ‘n’ hit a roadside bomb. Luck couldn’t get much worse’n’at. Then, y’got my brother, Jimmy.”

“The one from the bar,” you ask, eyes still focused solely on him.

He nods, his gaze shifting to you only briefly before returning to the road yet again. “The very one. He was the best damn football player y’ever did see, I reckon. Was bound to do somethin’ real great. Everyone said so. But then he went ‘n’ blew out his knee. Aunt Maggie, well, she won the lotto, y’see, only to up ‘n’ lose her ticket.” Clyde scoffs and shakes his head at that one. “Uncle Sticky? Electrocuted. But I reckon this whole family curse started way back when Great Grandpa Logan threw that horseshoe. Found himself a diamond, only he didn’t know it. Gave it to a buddy’a his, only to find out years down the line what it was. Lost out on fortune, ‘n’ he lost out on luck.”

Slowly, your head nods, remaining quiet as you soak in all of the details he’s bestowed upon you regarding his family’s history and lack of luck. Finally, you reach out and gently glide your fingers along his forearm, taking time to feel the muscles and tendons flex beneath your touch. 

“Something tells me your luck’s about to change, Clyde,” you say with a smile, fingers dancing over the tattoo that sits atop his upper forearm.

\---------------------

“You’re kiddin’ me.”

Clyde’s words burst out into the evening air like a firecracker, his own shock and disbelief causing his words to come out much louder than he’d intended. Your head shakes, and even as you laugh, you squeeze his hand a little tighter in your own.

“I’m not. This is _no joke_ ,” you assure him.

“A psychic shop? Y’really expect me t’go into a _ psychic shop _ ? After everythin’ I told you in the car?”

“Psychic parlor  _ and witchcraft emporium _ ,” you correct him, and even with the displeased look he shoots your way, you still can’t help but continue to laugh at his initial response to finding out just where you’re headed. “Just hear me out.” Keeping one hand held in his, you turn to step in front of him, your other hand reaching out to hold his left forearm. “We’re not here to see the psychic. I’ve always wanted a tarot reading, and what better place than here? Besides, maybe, _ just maybe _ we’ll turn the tide on that bad luck of yours.”

Clyde’s jaw works, his lips pushing out to form a pout while his gaze flits up to the sign that sits above the shop’s entrance, internally debating whether or not he wants to go through with this. You remain silent, allowing him a minute or two to think, and much to your surprise, he comes around to the idea. His head nods once just as he looks back down to you. “Alright then. Let’s get this out’a the way.”

He follows your lead, hand still clasped in your own when you tug him along the sidewalk towards the shop’s entrance, all with a smile that could shine brighter than the moon, he reckons.

The bell above the door dings when the two of you enter, alerting the woman behind the counter to new arrivals. Her head lifts and a smile stretches across her face, warm and welcoming as she makes her way from around the counter towards where you stand.

“Welcome to Omen. May I help you find anything today?”

“Actually,” you start, giving Clyde’s hand a squeeze as the sudden sense of excitement fills you, “we were hoping to get a tarot card reading. More specifically, _this_ one,” you motion with a nod of your head towards Clyde, “would like one.”

The woman’s gaze flits over to Clyde, taking a moment to assess him before looking back to you, a smile stretching across her face, the corners of her eyes crinkling in addition to the expression. “Follow me.”

There’s a moment of apprehension on Clyde’s part, his feet rooting to the floor until you give his hand a gentle tug, urging him to join you as you begin to follow the woman to a back room. It’s there that you find a small round table draped in a large black cloth and four chairs framing it. You release your hold on Clyde’s hand as the woman motions for the two of you to sit.

Clyde’s gaze shifts over to you, a new found sense of nervousness coursing through his veins. He’s never been one to dabble in magic, witchcraft, tarot, palm readings, psychics and the like. He reckons that his family’s been cursed enough, why take the risk of adding to that, and yet…

And yet, at your insistence, at your desire to have a reading, he finds that for you he will sit through this.

Pulling out a chair, the woman takes a seat while both you and Clyde do the same, the three of you taking a moment to get comfortable while the woman speaks. “There are a few ways one can have a reading done, but I typically like to stick to past, present, and future. How does that sound?”

Clyde looks to you again, unsure, and when you nod he mirrors the motion. “Fine by us,” you reply, directing your smile elsewhere while Clyde looks on with a lost expression.

Silence fills the room as the woman grabs her bundle of sage, lighting it as she begins to say a prayer to cleanse the space of negative energy. Clyde shifts in his seat, clearing his throat and looking about the room. You reach for him then, settling your hand atop his thigh under the table. His movement halts almost immediately, his hand finding yours beneath the table, grasping it and holding onto it like a lifeline.

When the sage is set aside, the woman shuffles the stack of cards, readying them for the reading. Once satisfied, she selects the top three from the deck and sets them down alongside one another on top of the table, lying each one face down.

“This first card,” she starts, flipping over the one on Clyde’s left, “represents your past.” The card is illustrated with a heart that is pierced by three swords, surrounded by rain.

Like before, Clyde shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He might not know much, if anything, about tarot, but even he can tell that this isn’t a pleasant card to be receiving.

“Ah. The three of swords. You’ve suffered pain in your past, both emotional and physical.”

Clyde humphs in response, nostrils flaring at the thought of less pleasant experiences he’s endured in his past. You give his hand a squeeze, bringing him back to the moment while also assuring him that you’re still here, that you aren’t going anywhere. He swallows thickly, giving a small, almost imperceptible nod just as his hand returns the squeeze beneath the table.

He watches as the woman reaches for the second card that sits directly in the center of the three that she’s pulled from the deck. This card holds an illustration representative of Adam and Eve; two lovers standing beneath a tree that holds both an apple and a serpent. “Your present holds the lovers card.” She’s unable to hide the smirk that’s already begun to form of its own volition, her gaze flitting between both you and Clyde. “This represents physical and emotional healing, but also a temptation of the heart.”

You can feel your face heat when her gaze shifts to stare directly at you briefly before she looks back to Clyde. “Your choices should not be made lightly, however, I sense that things have already begun to shift with you. Old wounds have begun to heal, have they not?”

Clyde looks dumbfounded, his nervous gaze finding yours before he redirects his attention to the woman. Again, he clears his throat, head nodding. “Uh huh.”

The woman huffs an amused laugh, now reaching for the third card. “Finally, your future.”

She flips over the card to reveal a card that depicts a family of three and a home off in the distance, all of which is posed beneath ten chalices. Pleased with the card, the woman allows a smile to form. “The ten of cups. Home, family, a fulfilling love; everything you could have ever hoped and wished for lies just ahead.”

Clyde’s hand inadvertently tightens around your own while the woman speaks, a lump forming in his throat at the thought of this all becoming his reality.

“Not so bad for your shitty luck,” you say, the words pulling him from the overwhelming depths of his thoughts.

His head turns and he looks over to where you sit, hand still held firmly in his without so much as a complaint. Exhaling a heavy breath, the sound mixing with a breathy laugh, he nods his head, still in disbelief over the reading. “Yeah. Yeah, I s’pose I expected worse.”

\---------------------

“What’s on your mind?”

The question is posed while you and Clyde are lying in bed together, the light of the moon filtering in through the windows of the bed and breakfast you two find yourselves in for the night, highlighting the angular features of Clyde’s face. Your fingers trace the outline of his slight pout, his lips pursing further to kiss your fingers before he finally gives in and enlightens you with a response.

“What d’y’make’a them tarot cards,” he asks, voice deep even through his whisper. “I reckon I’ve always been superstitious, but,” he huffs a breath through his nose, head shaking slightly against the pillow, “I don’t know, somethin’ just don’t seem right.”

A soft smile takes hold, your fingers moving to trail along his jawline. “You’re only saying that because after years and years of hearing nothing but bad you find yourself hesitant to take the good. Not everything is going to be bad luck and horrible things, Clyde. There  _ are _ good moments in life.”

Silence falls between you, and finally, Clyde concedes with a nod. “S’pose you’re right. Can’t spend the rest’a my days thinkin’ ‘bout all the bad that could be happenin’.”

“No, you cannot.” You smile at him through the darkness and the moonlight, and he returns the expression before leaning in to press his lips to yours.

“Thank you,” he says when he pulls back.

“For?”

He smiles again, pulling you closer to him. “Everything. Don’t think I’d ever have left Boone County if it weren’t for you. Don’t think I’d ever start t’ look at the good side’a things neither.”

Humming in contentment, you hold yourself closer to Clyde, resting against him while your eyes slip closed. “You deserve good things, Clyde.”

“So do you,” he mumbles just as sleep stakes its claim on him.


	4. Bar Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an extremely short chapter, my friends. I've been sitting on this for a few days, trying to see if I could add more, but in the end I decided that I didn't need to. Short or not, this serves its purpose. I hope you enjoy!

“It’s  _ beautiful _ .”

Clyde hums in agreement, the two of you allowing words to fall by the wayside now as you take in the sight before you. The ocean rolls in towards the shore with gentle waves that lap at the sand, the very same sand that you’ve dug your toes into, occasionally wiggling them to feel the grains between each digit. It’s an endearing act, one that Clyde finds himself smiling at each and every time he catches the movement out of his periphery.

Overhead, the sky is awash in purple, pink, gold, and blue, each color fading into the next like the most expertly painted canvas as the sun begins to rise. You’d gotten up early, left Salem while it was still dark just to make it here in time to catch the sunrise. Not even the eagles have awoken to make their presence known just yet.

“Was it everythin’ y’hoped it would be?”

Your arm loops around his left one, hugging yourself to him nice and tight whilst you sit together on Sand Beach in the heart of Acadia National Park. “More so,” you whisper, your head coming to rest against his shoulder.

Clyde turns his head to press a kiss to the crown of yours, allowing his lips to linger there for a moment before turning to rest his cheek against you, the two of you letting the sounds of nature fill in the space where words fail. He’d always had an affinity for the outdoors, he supposes growing up in West Virginia will do that to a person, but never had he had so much as half a mind to go out and explore the rest of the country’s offerings. It wasn’t until  _ you’d _ come along that he’d even entertained the notion. Now, sitting here in the pastel glow of an early morning, he’s thankful he’d taken the leap and headed North with you. A pretty view’s not the only thing he’d found along the way.

“What about you,” you asked in return, your head lifting to look up at him.

Slipping his arm from your hold, he wraps it around your frame and pulls you in to lean into his side, relishing in the warmth of your body against his own. Off in the distance an osprey shrieks, stretching its wings and ruffling the branches of one of the many pines that surround the beach. The metal of Clyde’s prosthetic whirs and clicks as the fingers stretch and curl to settle against your hip.

For the first time since he’s been home from the war, Clyde doesn’t find himself sitting with a pretty girl wishing he’d had his hand back. In fact, he finds that there aren’t any negative feelings here at all.

He finds that he’s finally at peace.

“‘Spose life works in funny and mysterious ways sometimes, this bein’ one of ‘em. I never reckoned I’d have much use for leavin’ Boone County, but I’m sure glad I took a chance on it with you.”

“Yeah?”

He can feel your head lifting from his shoulder, and when he turns his to look down at you, he finds you peering up at him with a look of wonder and contentment. He hopes he’s radiating the same emotions back to you. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice barely audible above the sound of the waves that lap up onto the sand.

Another moment passes, and soon enough Clyde’s head dips down to capture your lips with his own, letting the sounds of nature surround you both once more as you kiss one another in the ever changing shades of a New England sunrise.

Clyde’s still unsure of what’s to follow now that you’ve made it to your destination, but he’s hopin’, prayin’ like the good man that he is, that the two of you will figure this out together, whatever  _ this _ may be. He’d heard once that home isn’t a place, it’s a person. He thought maybe home was his family, the Logan clan. They’d been thicker than thieves since the day he was born, of course. But as it turns out, he realizes that they aren’t his home, no matter how much he’d clung to the idea before.

_ You _ are his home now.

He supposes you’d been so the moment you’d swept your way into the Duck Tape like some Nor’easter, wreckin’ him on sight.


End file.
